


Mount Up

by vienn_peridot



Series: Little Petshop of Horrors [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Modification, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, Master/Pet, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Praise Kink, Ratchet really is a filthy old bastard, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and Drift is just as perverted, pet!Drift, they both love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drifter learns to stand stud.<br/>First with a breeding dummy, then with Ratchet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning The Basics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuukkeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/gifts).



> I finally edited the thing.

Drift had been looking forward to these sessions ever since he’d revealed to Ratchet that he had a knotting mod.

Not just any knotting mod, either; one of the really high-end ones from the days before the war. He’d gotten it during his early time in the Decepticons when he was pulling in good money as Deadlock, before Cybertron’s economy and infrastructure had collapsed completely. Drift could choose whether or not to activate it during any given interface session, control how long it took to deflate post-overload _and_ had several different patterns of inflation and ejaculation pre-programmed. They’d run some very _thorough_ tests before deciding to go ahead with these kinds of games during their playtime.

Now Drift sat, waiting obediently with helm held high, his paw-mittens, tail and kneepads on while Ratchet buckled his pet collar around his neck. With the tiny ‘tick’ sound of the catch closing and the soft caress to his crest Drift could put his entire focus on following Ratchet’s orders and not worry about a single damn thing beside that. He purred and nuzzled Ratchet’s hand, feeling familiar contentment fill his frame as he sank into his pet headspace.

“Now Drifter, we have some special training to do today.” Ratchet said, tilting Drift’s helm up with a finger under the speedster’s chin. “Are you going to behave yourself?”

Too well-trained to answer with words Drift yipped and licked Ratchet’s hand then settled himself primly on his knees and looking up at his master with attentive optics.

“Good boy.” Ratchet praised and Drift felt his spark swell with pride despite it being a simple verbal reward for an action easily carried out. “Now, I think it might be useful to train you to stud. How does that sound?”

Oh Drift knew what was going on alright, but this was a game after all. _Their_ game. He made a low, questioning ‘ _mrrr?_ ’ sound with his vocaliser, tilting his helm to the side and dropping one finial while perking the other up. He kept his optics on Ratchet’s face so he was able to catch the flash of tenderness this action always brought.

“Come on, Drifter. Follow me.” Ratchet commanded, turning and walking towards the door to their spare room.

Drift popped up onto all fours and followed obediently. He hadn’t been allowed in the spare room that was their shared study for the last few days as Ratchet rearranged things and prepared for this session. The temptation to peek had been hard to resist but the delicious surprise waiting inside for him was well worth it. And the way Ratchet drank in his reaction, knowing he had his medic’s full glorious attention as he took in the way Drift’s cooling fans clicked on, his optics went wide and he licked his lips at the sight of the breeding dummy. He sat where Ratchet indicated, more of his attention on the form of the custom-built toy than on his master’s commands.

_Oh Primus that’s hotter than the furnace. Devious, filthy-minded mech. I’m going to suck his brain module out through his_ spike _later on_.

The dummy sat on sturdy legs, fully capable of taking his entire weight. The top was covered in a thick layer of soft, sensibly charcoal-coloured padding so Drift wouldn’t get so much as a scratch on his armour. Well, maybe a few dull patches in his finish if he got a little too enthusiastic in his mounting but he could always polish them out after. What really got his engine cranking up through the gears was the fact that the main body of the breeding dummy was entirely transparent, including the artificial valve he could see set into the slot. It looked like Ratchet had somehow gotten a spike sleeve made of some mostly-transparent gel, so he would be able to watch Drift’s spike as he thrust into the toy, _see_ the way his knot would swell and lock him in place, allow the medic to track the flow of Drift’s reproductive fluid when he overloaded and shot into the collection jar waiting at the end of the false valve.

Drift’s armour flared, letting more air beneath the plates to help cool his frame. His fans were running on a moderate setting already and the speedster already knew he was going to have a very, very hard time staying in character for this session. All he wanted to do was show Ratchet his appreciation for this marvellous gift by worshipping every inch of his frame, overloading him into stasis and waiting for him to reboot so he could do it all over again.

_Actually; I want him to take my valve while I frag that toy. In front of a mirror so we can see_ everything.

It was beyond obvious that Drift was getting very, very turned on by the sight of the breeding dummy. He flicked his optics up to see Ratchet giving him a _look_. That sly, knowing expression on his face was a challenge; would he finish the session before pouncing the medic and fragging his processor our or would he comm for an early finish and get to said pouncing?  He knew the medic was more than capable of the self-control require to carry this scene through without giving in to the arousal betrayed by his own quietly humming cooling fans.

_Glitch. I’ll show him. Dammit I’m not losing out on playtime because of my libido!_

Cycling his vents deeply and thoroughly Drift looked back at the breeding dummy and in its direction, tilting his helm from side to side as he examined it before chirping questioningly up at Ratchet.

“Good boy, Drifter.” Ratchet said affectionately, rubbing Drift’s helm crest and around the base of his finials. Drift half-closed his optics and purred with pleasure at the praise and reward, pressing his helm up into Ratchet’s helm. The medic took his hand away after a minute and pointed at the breeding dummy. “Go on boy, take a look.”

Even though he knew exactly what it was and why it was here Drift moved towards the breeding dummy with caution, optics wide and alert for any hidden surprises, finials flattened back to keep the delicate sensors out of harm’s way and frame tense, ready to leap away if something startled him. Ratchet’s voice kept up a soothing background murmur of encouragement as Drift crawled gracefully around his newest interfacing toy, sniffing it and even licking the clear sides and tough grey cover of the cushioned top. Trying to get a feel for what would be going on his spike he shoved his nasal ridge into the entrance of the false valve. It was soft and slightly squishy; one of the textureless gel-filled things that took a considerable amount of work to get an overload with. Heat seared through his frame and he shuddered with excitement at the thought of humping the breeding dummy for what would certainly feel like _hours_ under Ratchet’s watchful gaze, trying desperately to reach overload within the unresponsive channel of the spike sleeve.

“That’s enough, Drifter. Come.” Ratchet commanded and Drift backed away from the dummy, frame trembling with lust. His master deliberately misread it as fear despite the volume of his fans and the way his engine was going. “It’s ok boy. It’s not going to hurt you.” Ratchet said comfortingly, running his hand down Drift’s backplates.

Drift leaned against Ratchet’s leg, allowing himself to be comforted and desperately trying to get his raging arousal under control. If he called a stop now they’d have to spend next session learning the commands and he really, really wanted to be at the point of mounting it with his spike out by then.

_Focus. Learn the commands. Frag him as soon as the gear comes off._

First he was lead over to the breeding dummy, directed to ‘stand’ and ‘stay’ behind it while Ratchet went to stand behind the other end.

“Alright Drifter; _mount up_.” Ratchet said the last two words in his Command Voice.

The command was a combination of the familiar ‘up’ with a new word, in a context totally foreign to anything in their previous play sessions. Even though he knew perfectly well what Ratchet wanted, Drift went with the most logical thing he could think of.

Well, logical from his point of view.

He sat his aft down, tilted his helm and purr-chirped a question at his master.

Ratchet repeated the new command, tapping the top of the breeding dummy.

Drift rose to hands and knees again, moving a few inches closer.

“Drifter; _mount up_.” Tap. Tap.

Tentatively Drift placed first one paw-mittened hand, then the other on top of the breeding dummy. This got him praise and a tiny chip of something sweet that melted on his glossa; his usual training reward. He purred with pride as the familiar flavour of _reward_ filled his mouth.

“Ok, down boy.”

Drift hopped down and took a step sideways to move around the dummy towards his master.

“ _Stay_.”

He froze.

“Good boy.” Ratchet’s voice was that rich purr that sent tingles down Drift’s backstruts to his uncomfortably tight armour. “Let’s try it again. _Mount up_.”

This time there was a sweet energon chip waiting for him, Ratchet holding it mid-air so Drift confidently placed his forepaws on the end of the breeding dummy and was given his reward and more praise before being commanded down.

They repeated this process over and over, with Ratchet coaxing Drift further forward onto the toy each time until he would respond to the command by mounting the breeding dummy properly; torso laid against the soft padding and the scorching armour of his spike housing pressing against the entrance to the artificial valve. When he carried out the required response perfectly three times in a row Ratchet apparently decided that was enough for the training session, leading Drift through to the main room of their quarters and removing his collar.

Drift barely got his mittens off before launching himself at Ratchet and kissing him until their armour was open. Somehow he got the tail and kneepads off before dragging the unprotesting medic into the berthroom and thanking him messily, thoroughly and _very_ noisily.


	2. Training Proper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Drift move on to the next stage of stud training.

Drift spent a whole week wondering what Ratchet would do to solve the puzzle of how to get Drifter aroused enough to spike the breeding dummy before their next scheduled training session came around. In the meantime he spent one lovely evening sprawled across Ratchet’s lap getting his finials and backplates rubbed while the medic watched a movie and part of a not-quite-so-lovely evening in his time-out crate for getting a little too rambunctious in his attempts to divert his master’s attention away from the datapad he was reading.

He was only in the crate for about half an hour but Drifter had needed a lot of reassurance afterwards.

All day before the training session Drift’s imagination was running wild. Ratchet had given him a modified code he wanted the speedster to run on his knotting mod for their training session. As soon as he figured out what the new parameters were Drift had gone straight to the washracks and jerked off. Twice. Just to make sure he’d last through the scene without begging Ratchet to frag him through the floor he even got Rodimus to cover the last two hours of his shift so he could take care of the charge _still_ crawling through his circuits while he got ready. His fans were humming again by the time Ratchet slipped the collar around his neck and gave him that beautiful smile.

 _Frag, I know my frametype runs hot but this is_ ridiculous!

“You ready for more stud training, boy?” The medic asked, rubbing Drift’s helm crest as the speedster purred and nosed at the armour of Ratchet’s inner thigh. Ratchet chuckled softly, giving a last firm stroke to Drift’s helm before taking his hand away.

“Alright then. Come, Drifter.”

Drift followed his master into their spare room where the breeding dummy had been set up again. He sat when commanded, finials pricked and optics fixed attentively on Ratchet, ignoring the interfacing toy completely. It was known and investigated and all he cared about was pleasing Ratchet. Even though he wasn’t looking right at it Drift could still see the breeding dummy in his peripheral vision and his low-burning arousal picked up another few notches.

“First things first; let’s see if you remember the command, yes?” Ratchet said thoughtfully. There was a wicked gleam in his optic that made Drift bite his lower lip to stifle a moan.

_Slag, he’s gonna kill me with this!_

“Drifter, _mount up!_ ” Ratchet commanded, pointing at the breeding dummy.

Obedient and determined to please Drift rose to all fours, approached the breeding dummy and draped himself across it the way he’d learned; chest and belly armour flat to the padding and hot crotchplate pressed to the entrance of the artificial valve. Ratchet praised him generously, commanding Drift down before giving him a sweet energon chip and giving him a thorough rub around the base of his finials.

“Hmm, we don’t have a teaser handy so we’ll have to see what we can do about getting you revved up enough to mount it properly.” Ratchet said thoughtfully, slipping his fingers into armour gaps that were extremely sensitive. “You’re such a good, smart boy. A wonderful pet. You’ll make an _amazing_ stud.”

The teasing caresses and praise combined to bring Drift to shivering, aching arousal within minutes, rubbing his helm and pauldrons against Ratchet’s leg and making pleading noises low in his throat. One hand slipped back to cup Drift’s primary interfacing armour below his tail, tracing the damp lines where valve lubricants were already leaking out. Drift moaned and wriggled, pressing back into the hand and earning himself a sharp command to _stand_. Then the hand on his valve dipped between his thighs and cupped the scorching, uncomfortably tight armour over his spike housing.

“Open, pet.” His master commanded, tapping the primary armour over Drift’s spike housing.

Drift complied so fast his spike almost hit Ratchet’s hand as it pressurised the instant there was room. He stood on paw-mittened hands and padded knees with his achingly hard spike hanging between his legs, shivering all over with barely-contained lust despite his multiple self-service sessions throughout the day.

“Good boy, Drifter. Looks like you’re going to do absolutely fine without a teaser pet.” Ratchet ignored his pleading whine, rubbing the helm joints of his pressed-back finials. “Now, this is going to feel a little odd but we have to clean you off so we don’t contaminate the sample.”

Suddenly there was a cold, damp cloth rubbing over his spike. Ratchet rubbed the cleaning cloth gently over Drift’s aching erection, cleaning the already-clean piece of equipment and tantalising the sensors. It was too much, Drift moaned and started rocking his hips, thrusting into the familiar hand on his spike and panting through his open mouth, glossa lolling and drool threatening to spill over his lower lip.

“That’s enough, you.” Ratchet reprimanded, taking the cloth away. “If you want to do that, _mount up_.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. So desperately horny he could barely think, Drift scurried over to the breeding dummy and mounting it, humping wildly and mashing the shaft of his spike blindly against the entrance of the artificial valve. Whining, he pressed his arms back towards his legs and thrust with hard, sharp jerks of his hips, trying to get his spike into the elusive entrance of the spike sleeve he knew was _somewhere_ down there. He could feel the cool, squashy entrance rubbing against the length of his shaft as he rutted against the breeding dummy.

 _Frag frag frag I’m not gonna be able to cum unless I’m_ in _that thing and I can’t fragging_ find _it!_

Drift snarled with frustration and his master came to the rescue, careful hands moving between his pumping hips and the back of the breeding dummy, familiar voice soothing him and familiar grip guiding the tip of his leaking, throbbing spike into the entrance of the artificial valve.

On the next thrust he slid inside with a howl of bliss, slamming the baseplate of his spike housing against the side of the breeding dummy. Determined, Drift set his padded knees on the floor, gripped the breeding dummy to his belly with his forearms and fragged the soft, yielding passage for all he was worth.

The modified knotting-mod coding Drift was running at Ratchet’s request kicked in as soon as his spike registered pressure and consistent tactile feedback along the length of his shaft. Drift didn’t care, he felt too good. He was obeying and he was getting off and Ratchet was watching and he was being a _good boy_. He came after almost a dozen hard, savage thrusts; snarling and sinking his pointed denta into the padding in front of his face, biting down as overload surged through his frame and his knot swelled, locking him to the breeding dummy while his spike jetted a thick stream of ejaculate into the collection bottle attached to the artificial valve.

Drift lay over the breeding dummy just enjoying the tingling afterglow of overload, drooling and purring while his fans roared. He could hear Ratchet’s going in the background and wondered how long it would be until the medic got his equipment out and started self-servicing.

When Drift’s frame was within optimal temperature range again he felt his knot begin to deflate. The speedster slid backwards off the dummy, limp spike easily leaving the squashy embrace of the artificial valve. He got several sweet energon chips and lavish praise before his master commanded him to sit. Ratchet changed out the collection jar filled with Drift’s silvery reproductive fluid for a new one and examined the damage his denta had done to the breeding dummy.

“Oh dear.” Ratchet said, smiling at Drift when the speedster whined contritely, finials drooping as he flattened himself to the floor. “It’s alright boy, I’m not angry. I just know to muzzle you now.”

Ratchet showed Drift how very not-angry he was with more rubbing and attention that got him revved up and ready for another round in no time flat. This time, Ratchet slipped a sweet energon chip into Drift’s mouth and clipped his muzzle on before washing his spike and giving him the command to mount up again.

Remembering the pointless humping of his first attempt, Drift approached and mounted the breeding dummy with a little more caution this time.

He sniffed at the entrance to the artificial valve and fixed its spatial position in his processors before rising onto his knees and resting his torso on the padded surface. Doing this managed to get the tip of his spike at the entrance to the false valve and Drift sank home victoriously, growling as he slammed into the yielding, low-friction spike sleeve Ratchet had chosen to incorporate into the fragtoy.

This time he didn’t overload when the modified coding took over, inflating his knot so he had to stop moving and squirting a fresh load of fluid into the collection jar. Drift whined, jerked his hips a few pointless times and gave up, sagging onto the breeding dummy and waiting for his frame to cool down enough for the knot to deflate.

He was still hard when it did and would have begun thrusting again the instant his knot was small enough for him to do so; but Ratchet was able to see the state of his spike through the clear construction of the breeding dummy and commanded him off it instead.

Unwilling to disobey and earn another time-out in his crate Drift slunk to the side, sitting and watching sulkily as Ratchet changed out the collection jar. He sat with thighs spread, deliberately pointing his unsatisfied and still erect spike at his master, wishing his paw mittens would let him jerk off or that he could risk trying to contort himself into the position where he could get the head of his own spike into his mouth to get some fragging _relief_.

The third mounting went the same.

Arousing caresses (he was already turned on), spike washing (fiendish, fiendish teasing), mount up, find the artificial valve, rut desperately into it only to knot and ejaculate long before he was ready to overload.

Drift was almost delirious with unrelieved charge the fourth time his master commanded him to mount the breeding dummy. He pressed his cheek to the cool padding, drooling and thrusting mindlessly until his knot inflated and he could thrust no more. When he could move again, master commanded him down but Drift couldn’t stay still. He circled around Ratchet’s legs as the medic fussed with the breeding dummy, rubbing his frame against the medic’s armour in hopes of getting enough friction for a tactile overload from the contact.

The session was shaping up to be both the best and the worst overload denial of his life and Drift loved every second even as he hated it, because when he finally came after all of this build-up he knew it would be fragging _amazing_.

He almost sobbed with despair when Ratchet washed his spike and ordered him to mount the dummy again; absolutely certain there would be no overload this time either. Drift almost missed the cable disconnecting from his medical ports, having been too charged-up and distracted to notice Ratchet connecting to him in the first place.

Smoothly Drift mounted the breeding dummy, got his shaft into the squashy embrace of the artificial valve and began slamming his spike into the yielding passage and mentally counting down until his knot would swell and force him to stop. It seemed to be roughly a dozen or so, so it wasn’t until Drift got to sixteen bruising thrusts that he realised something was different.

_He disabled the modded code. Oh frag YES!_

Fresh determination surged through Drift and he pressed his forearms hard into the base of the breeding dummy and just let go, chasing his overload with single-minded determination. He turned his helm to find Ratchet, seeing the medic sitting beside him optics fixed on him, spike in hand, rubbing himself off in time with Drift’s relentless pounding. Their optics met and Ratchet smiled, mouthing ‘good boy’ at the desperate speedster who rutted into the breeding dummy with force he rarely dared to use when taking Ratchet’s valve.

The thought of Ratchet beneath him with his masters’ hot, wet valve stretching around his knot combined with the memory of what Ratchet looked like with Drift’s load leaking from him sent the speedster screaming into overload, hips jabbing erratically until his knot swelled and forcibly stilled them. The overload continued in an outpouring of pure pleasure as he ejected what felt like everything left in his repro-tank down into the waiting collection jar.

Somewhere Ratchet’s voice murmured praise and Ratchet’s hands removed the muzzle from his face. Drift smiled blissfully up at his mate, laid his cheek against the breeding dummy and let his exhausted frame shut down, knowing he’d wake up in berth with his pet gear off and Ratchet curled around him.

His last conscious thought was that he’d have to find some way of thanking the medic for such an amazing training session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never, ever thought I'd use the artificial breeding portion of my Equine Studies course unless I went into the racing industry. Boy was I wrong! o.O


	3. Mounting Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has a request.  
> Drift is unsure.  
> It all goes rather well in the end.

“You want me to _what?_ ”

Drift’s vocaliser almost cracked with surprise and Ratchet watched his mate’s optics widen with the same emotion.

“Do you need your audials checked?” Ratchet snapped, feeling embarrassment creep through him at having to repeat his request. “I want you to mount and knot me during our next playtime.”

“I go pretty hard at stud, Ratch. You know that.” Drift sounded worried. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Ratchet caught the black-plated hand that was reaching for his faceplates and held it in both of his. He didn’t need his mate going all sappy right now, and face-stroking was _definitely_ sappy.

“I’m built far tougher than you seem to think.” He said acerbically. “You won’t hurt me. How about this; You decide if you want to spike or be spiked and if you mount me I promise to comm a stop to the session as soon as I feel anything worse than a scratch.”

“You’d better, or I’ll tell Magnus to take you off the roster for a few days while you recuperate.” Drift’s faceplates were set. There would be no arguing with him on this.

“Deal.”

 

## ~V~V~V~

 

Ratchet’s frame was humming with anticipation as he snugged Drift’s pet collar around the speedster’s neck and closed the clasp at the back. Despite his mate’s misgivings about their plans for tonight Drift still looked up at him with optics full of love and trust. It always warmed his Spark to see that gaze turned on him and to know that he was the only one who got to see it on Drift’s face. He rubbed the speedster’s helm crest gently, contentment filling him as Drift purred and leaned against his leg.

_I want him to be happy all the time, dammit. Not that fake-happy he puts on for show._

After the incident with the cleaning cloth Drift had found a length of soft rope at one of their planetside stops and between them they’d made several different toys from it for their play sessions. Ratchet had also picked up a few bits and pieces to put together a surprise for his mate based on something he remembered from Earth. Hopefully playing with it would help Drift relax a bit before Ratchet got him wound up again for what he considered in the privacy of his own processors to be the ‘main event’ of the night.

“I’ve got a few articles to read, Drifter. So I got you something to keep you entertained while I do.” Ratchet said. Drift’s finials drooped and he looked up at Ratchet with the wide, sorrowful optics he found hard to resist. “They’re only short ones. It won’t take me long and we can play tug-of-war afterwards.”

The mention of Drifter’s favourite game worked like magic. His finials perked up and he yipped, darting for his toy crate and digging through it to find his tug-rope. While he was occupied Ratchet pulled his present from subspace and slipped some of the sweet energon chips he used to reward his pet into it. Drift pranced back to him on kneepads and paw-mittens, optics shining and tug-rope clamped in his denta. He dropped it before Ratchet, yipped and play-bowed, entire frame wriggling with excitement.

“Afterwards, silly boy.” Ratchet said, waving his gift in front of Drift’s nose.

Bright blue optics tracked the movement of the unfamiliar object and Drift’s finials perked up as it rattled. Comprehension dawned across Drift’s faceplates as he recognised what Ratchet was holding.

A treat ball.

Something that would dispense the sweet energon treats at random as he rolled it across the floor; except that Ratchet’s version wouldn’t have Drift eating off the floor. The ball would transform slightly, stop in place and reveal the treat compartment so Drift could nip the candy up with his lipplates. Ratchet placed the treat ball on the floor and gave it a little push. It rolled to a stop a short distance away. Drift looked at it and back at Ratchet, waiting for something.

“Go on, go get it!” Ratchet said encouragingly.

Then the game was on.

Instead of reading, Ratchet spent most of his time watching Drift chase the treat ball around their living room instead, egging his pet on with the words and tone of voice he knew Drift loved best, his spark swirling with indefinable emotions as he watched the speedster play. His mate had never really had a chance to be silly for the sake of it or enjoy himself while doing so and the way his glossa lolled and faceplates glowed with excitement over the simple toy made him determined to do everything in his power to protect the speedster and the things that made him happy.

The ball ran out of energon chips long before Drift ran out of energy so Ratchet distracted him with the tug-toy. It was possibly the shortest game of tug-of-war they’d ever played, Drift whining and dropping his end of the toy when his arousal became too much. He surprised Ratchet by rising to his knees, wrapping his arms around the medic’s thigh and attempting to hump his leg. Drift’s spike emerged before Ratchet could work out what the Pit he was doing and it left long trails of lubricating fluid smeared across his armour.

“Down, Drifter!” The medic commanded sharply.

Drift obeyed with a reluctant grizzling sound and flattened finials, kneeling with thighs spread and erect spike on display. His frame shivered with arousal and Ratchet felt his own cooling system click up another notch as he took in the biolights pulsing on Drift’s spike.

_He’s opened his spike over, not his valve cover._

“Oh dear, I should have guess this would happen after we started stud training.” Ratchet said with a sigh.

Drift whined and wriggled closer, optics fixed intently on Ratchet as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his erection without the breeding dummy to mount and was _absolutely_ sure his master would fix everything. Ratchet crouched in front of his pet and pulled Drift’s helm to his chestplates, rubbing Drift’s finials soothingly. The speedster let out a low moan and leaned into Ratchet’s touch, vents cycling faster.

“I could use my hand but that wouldn’t feel as good for you as a nice wet valve, would it boy?” Ratchet asked and Drift whined pitifully, hips twitching in abortive little thrusting motions that made Ratchet’s mouth go dry with lust. “Well, this will never do.”

Letting go of Drift, Ratchet stood and too two steps back, before turning his back to Drift and lowering himself smoothly to take the same position Drift adopted when Ratchet took his valve during playtime. He put a little sway into his hips and was gratified to hear the hitching of Drift’s vents accompanied by a low yipping whine as he opened the armour and secondary cover over his valve. He’d been turned on all day just thinking about tonight, and now Ratchet was presenting his wet, swollen and very aroused valve to his equally aroused mate.

He let Drift watch for a few minutes as he muttered to himself and reached between his legs to test his level of lubrication and slide two fingers into his passage, spreading them to show Drift the ring of biolights just inside the entrance of his valve. The sound of padded knees and hands approached, Drifter sniffing and investigating his master and the strange thing he was doing. A lick surprised Ratchet and he swore, struggling not to overload at the thought of Drifter licking him to overload before mounting and knotting him.

_Focus, you filthy old bastard. Focus!_

Then Drift _did_ lick him; a cautious swipe of the glossa that caught up a trail of lubrication dribbling down Ratchet’s folds and just grazed the medic’s primary external node.

“Slag!” Ratchet gasped, jerking away from Drift’s mouth.

The speedster whined apologetically and Ratchet could hear scuffling from behind him. He dropped his helm to look back between his spread legs. Even before his optical feeds corrected for the upside-down image he could clearly make out Drift on all fours a few paces behind him, cringing with his finials pinned back; unsure of the situation and certain he’d done something to earn a punishment. Ratchet sat up, facing the speedster and beckoned him over.

“Drifter, I’m sorry boy. Come, Drifter.” Ratchet coaxed in a soft voice nobody on the crew besides Drift had ever heard from him. The speedster relaxed a little but his posture was still extremely submissive and he whined at Ratchet, obviously unsure. “Come on, there’s a good boy. Come, Drifter, come!”

Eventually Ratchet had his pet in his arms and he pulled Drift into his lap, ignoring the cold floor on his soaking wet valve and the way the shaft of Drift’s spike jutted from the front of the speedster’s pelvic armour. Ratchet rubbed Drift’s favourite places, apologising and soothing and praising until his pet was wriggling and making little chuffing noises of happiness. His spike still hadn’t softened and when Drift apparently felt there had been enough teasing and foreplay he started trying to capture Ratchet’s hand in his forepaws and drag it lower, down his belly and towards his twitching spike.

“Shall we take care of this now, Drifter?” Ratchet asked, playfully running a finger up the speedster’s extremely erect spike. Drift tried to thrust into the pressure, licking Ratchet’s neck and chin and whining low in his vocaliser. “Alright then, hop off and let me up.”

It took a gentle shove to get Drift wriggling his way off Ratchet’s lap so the medic could resume his earlier position on hands and knees. This time Drift hung back, cautious.

“Alright, boy.” Ratchet said, feeling lust throb through his frame to make his next words emerge low and rasping. “ _Mount up_.”

There was a pause, then a questioning sound.

“Come on, mount up.” Ratchet filled his voice with as much encouragement as he could. “It’s ok, Drifter.”

Drift edged closer, sniffing Ratchet’s bared valve and chirping.

“That’s it, good boy.” Ratchet felt like he was about to explode but he kept his vocals calm and steady, flexing his callipers so the ring of biolights just inside the entrance would flash a brilliant welcome to his mate. “You can do it, Drifter. _Mount up_.”

His voice firmed on the last two words, the tone of command Drift would be familiar with and used to obeying. Combined with the blinking of Ratchet’s internal biolights it was enough to convince his pet that he really meant what he was saying. Drift came up behind Ratchet, gave his valve another sniff and moved between the medic’s spread legs and planted his kneepads firmly on the floor. Moments later Ratchet felt his mate’s familiar armour pressing against his back and the head of Drift’s spike nudged the external folds of his valve. He was going slower than he did with the breeding dummy, having never mounted another mech before Drifter was obviously going to be cautious.

“Good boy, _good_ _boy_ Drifter.”

Strong white forearms caught the upper lip of Ratchet’s pelvic armour as Drifter rumbled and settled his weight more firmly atop his master. Their armour fit together perfectly and Ratchet let out a long, bliss-filled exhalation as Drift licked along the upper edge of Ratchet’s chunky red dorsal armour as his hips began pumping in little shallow thrusts that just barely popped the head of his spike in and out of Ratchet’s valve.

“ _That’s_ my good boy. _Mount me_.”

It was as if those words flipped a switch inside the speedster. A shiver went through Drift’s frame and he growled with a hungry rumble of his engine, clamped his denta down on one of the thick redundant cables of Ratchet’s neck and _slammed_ his spike into the medic in one brutal thrust, crashing his pelvic armour against Ratchet’s aft with the same force he’d used on the breeding dummy.

“ _Yes_ , that’s it.” Ratchet moaned. “So good, Drifter. You’re _so_ good.”

Bliss screamed through Ratchet’s frame as Drift adjusted his position slightly and began pumping away, his growling taking on a crooning note as he fragged his medic with all the strength in his frame. Ratchet could only imagine what he looked like, on hands and knees on the floor with Drift working away behind him, rutting into him with such force his tail thumped audibly against the back of his thighs. He felt drool from his pet’s half-open mouth start dripping down his neck cables and still Drift kept going, working himself towards overload in the hot, wet depths of Ratchet’s frame.

Ratchet came first, so unbelievably aroused that he overloaded without needing to reach for his spike or external node. He keened Drift’s designation as released charge crackled through his frame in wave after wave of ecstasy, driven by the pumping of his pet’s spike. His callipers pulled Drift with him, the extra stimulation triggering Drift’s overload and the swell of his knotting mod. He snarled and shoved his hips into Ratchet with jerky, desperate motions until the increasing girth of his knot forcibly stopped him and then Drift’s repro-tank started emptying in pulse after pulse of liquid heat.

It quickly filled the space available behind the plug formed by Drift’s knot and Ratchet moaned, overloading again at the delicious feeling of his valve expanding to accommodate the amount of fluid Drift’s modded spike was pumping into him. Pressure built within Ratchet, the pleated walls of his valve expanding and baring nodes that were usually covered. Drift’s spike continued to pump the thick, hot liquid into Ratchet’s valve until it could take no more and then stopped, leaving the medic feeling incredibly full, valve stretched nearly to capacity.

Now that Ratchet was filled and tied firmly to him by the knot of his spike Drift released his grip on the back of Ratchet’s neck and started licking the cables, purring smugly. Ratchet was a little surprised; Drift normally overloaded so hard during their sessions that he blacked out for a bit. It had alarmed Ratchet the first few times until Drift explained that it was because he felt safe enough to let go that completely. After the first few worrying times Ratchet always made sure Drift woke up clean, comfortable and in contact with his frame. Today he had honestly expected to have to wiggle out from under his mate’s unconscious frame and deal with the mess while waiting for Drift to show signs of booting up.

_Did he want to make sure I was alright this time?_

“Good boy, Drifter. You are a _very_ good boy.” Ratchet turned his helm and tried to smile at Drift over his shoulder. The motion shifted Drift’s spike in his over-full valve and his next words emerged more sultry than he intended. “A very, _very_ good boy.”

Drift purred and nuzzled at the back of Ratchet’s helm, sighing contentedly and resting his weight on Ratchet as they settled in and waited for Drift’s knot to deflate.

_And there’s going to be one_ Pit _of a mess when it does._


End file.
